I stared up at the grimy windows, trying to imagine what it would have been like to be so desperate you’d have to jump from them. “God rest their souls,” I whispered. I looked back at the women, and my heart filled with pity for them. I recognized somehow that pity wasn’t something normal for me, and I wondered again about my past.

Not far past the factory, Mrs. Shaw pulled over the car in front of a small building and stopped.

“Come along, dear,” she said as she jumped out.

I was struck again at what a strange woman Mrs. Shaw was. Any other woman her age would be bent over on a walking stick, but here she was with more vim than someone half her age. I knew fine well that she could leave me in the dust any day of the week.

Inside, in a small room, a group of women of all ages bustled about, organizing stacks of envelopes, writing on big pieces of cardboard in black ink and attaching them to wooden sticks, and gluing ribbons together to form rosettes. They talked away as they worked, joking and laughing. One of them stopped what she was doing and ran over and greeted Mrs. Shaw like a long-lost friend.

“Felicity!” she said. “How good to see you.”

Mrs. Shaw smiled and pulled me forward. “This is the young lady I told you was staying with me. The girl from the Titanic.”

The woman trained her clear blue eyes on me. Her face was kind and she took both of my hands in hers.

“Welcome,” she said, “we’re all delighted to meet you. Felicity has told us so much about you. What you must have been through—I cannot imagine. Come. Have a cup of tea.”

She pulled me toward the back of the room, where a woman was pouring tea into mugs. I had a sudden urge to cry. It was as if this stranger had wrapped me in a warm shawl like an infant.

Before I could finish the tea, I found myself being pulled along by the group of women toward the door. Someone pinned a rosette on me and thrust a pile of printed leaflets into my hands. The others hoisted the cardboard signs with sayings like “Equal Pay for Equal Work” and “Strike for Better Working Conditions” on them. Outside, they fell into step, two by two, and began to march, Mrs. Shaw at the front. I walked beside a young, pleasant-faced girl about my own age. She nodded at me.

“First time?” she asked.

“Aye,” I said, wishing I could disappear into the ground.

She nodded to the leaflets I carried. “You should start giving those out.”